


The Full Picture

by Misty_Floros



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, Asexual Relationship, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/F, Missing Scene, She/Her Pronouns for Aziraphale (Good Omens), She/Her Pronouns for Crowley (Good Omens)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-05
Updated: 2020-07-05
Packaged: 2021-03-05 00:28:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,722
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25085431
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Misty_Floros/pseuds/Misty_Floros
Summary: “Right. Anyone looking?”“Nobody.”“Right. Swap back, then.”They reaccustomed themselves to their respective corporeal forms.Smoothing out the fabric of her waistcoat, Aziraphale said, “We’d better do the other part somewhere... well, where unforeseen effects won’t stir up a fuss. Don’t you agree?”
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 10
Kudos: 42





	The Full Picture

“Right. Anyone looking?”

“Nobody.”

“Right. Swap back, then.”

They reaccustomed themselves to their respective corporeal forms.

Smoothing out the fabric of her waistcoat, Aziraphale said, “We’d better do the other part somewhere... well, where unforeseen effects won’t stir up a fuss. Don’t you agree?”

“Sure,” Crowley muttered, hiding a grimace. The “unforeseen effects” had been quite an embarrassing affair when they’d performed the exchange before. Joking about an embarrassment had the added benefit of getting to stew in a new embarrassment caused by joking about the first embarrassment, so she did just that. Dryly, she said, “Wouldn’t want an audience when I _swoon_ and you valiantly catch me yet again.”

“You needn’t put it like that. Everyone has their weak moments,” Aziraphale offered magnanimously.

Crowley grumbled something unintelligible.

Aziraphale’s eyes gained that impossibly soft, compassionate hue. “There’s really nothing to be ashamed of. I’ve seen you in a far worse condition, if that’s any consolation.”

“It really isn’t,” Crowley responded automatically. When she gave it a proper thought, however, she found it kind of was. Keen on steering the conversation forward, she said, “So, we’ll go to mine, get it over with and then go grab a celebratory drink?”

Aziraphale wavered for some reason, her eyes flitting down and back up. “Ah, of course.” Rearranging her features into an uncertain smile, she added, “And I could use a bite to eat as well. That whole ordeal has left me terribly hungry.”

* * *

Crowley focused on turning the key in the lock, hoping to chase away her maudlin mood before the angel noticed.

The thing about her maudlin moods was that they didn’t want to remain hidden; the buggers wanted to sprawl out on the surface, secretly wishing that someone would notice them and provide comfort.

She’d turned into an addict, she mused. It had only been a few hours, and she’d already developed dependence. Would it destroy her, bit by bit, like drugs destroyed human lives? She didn’t care. She didn’t want to give it up.

“We should sit down,” Aziraphale remarked, diligently wiping her shoes on the doormat in front of Crowley’s door. That was a novelty, since Crowley had never once considered actually using the doormat for its designated purpose. She’d bought it simply because the fluffy pristine white material didn’t look at all like something on which you should be wiping the filthy soles of your shoes.

“Sit down, yeah. Let’s do that,” Crowley affirmed distractedly, slipping off her jacket and hanging it on the rack on the wall. She took off her glasses and tucked them into the jacket’s inner pocket. She swaggered down the dimly lit hallway, passing by her living room. Then her brain processed what had been said and connected sitting to sofas and sofas to the one in her living room, and she retraced her steps.

The space was nearly empty, the only furniture being the TV, the sound system and the white sofa constructed using no other shapes than sharp-edged rectangles. Light streamed in, muted by the light-grey roller blinds which were pulled all the way down.

Crowley reclined against the throw pillows amassed in the corner of the sofa, and waited for Aziraphale to sit down beside her. When she did, Crowley held out her palm, even though she was loath to do so, and mentally steeled herself. She watched as Aziraphale laid her hand in hers. Then the demon averted her gaze. It was a pity she’d pulled down the blinds and couldn’t divert her attention by looking outside.

“Let’s get on with it, then,” she said tersely.

Aziraphale made no movement, neither physical nor metaphysical. Crowley blinked at her quizzically.

“Are you all right, dear?” Aziraphale asked, concern lacing her voice. “We can go about the process gradually, if you’d rather.”

Gradual reduction of dosage seemed like a useful approach. Too bad there wasn’t a replacement therapy available for this kind of opiate. The part of Aziraphale’s soul incorporated in her own, however, differed from a foreign substance in a bloodstream in that it wasn’t coursing through its solvent. It enveloped her like a thin, opaque coating or a blanket – that had been the purpose it served, after all.

It had been what had made their deception possible; a low-ranking angel perhaps wouldn’t have been able to see through a human form, but there was no chance it would have sufficed to fool an archangel, let alone the ever-suspicious ruling class of Hell.

It would be best to get it over with quickly, Crowley concluded. Go cold turkey as soon as possible. She’d had the ethereal blanket merely half a day – who knew how difficult it would be to let go once she’d been in possession of it for a longer period of time. It was so warm, so comforting. She wanted to keep it for eternity.

“Nah. It’ll be better if it’s in one go,” she told Aziraphale. “Like ripping off a plaster.”

Aziraphale appeared unconvinced, so Crowley added, “Really, I’m fine, angel. It’s one of those things which aren’t that bad once you’re doing them. It’s just the thinking about doing them part that’s shite.”

Aziraphale contemplated her face searchingly. “It’s simply that I don’t understand why it’s so unpleasant for you. I do see why the first exchange was, but now you’re taking a part of yourself back. There’s nothing to be apprehensive about.”

Crowley was growing quite tired of skirting the gist of the matter, and besides, Aziraphale still hadn’t released her hand, which was making her awfully jittery. Crowley opted, obviously, for sarcasm. “Oh yes, I can’t wait to get a piece of my rotten essence back. Really, what an utter delight that’ll be.” It wasn’t the entire truth by far, but Aziraphale didn’t need to know that.

Aziraphale seemed taken aback. “Oh.”

Before pity could replace the surprise, Crowley pressed on, “Yeah, so can we please stop talking and do the thing.”

“No,” Aziraphale replied quietly.

Crowley’s eyebrows shot up. “No?”

Aziraphale continued more firmly, “No, I… I’m not giving it back.” She let go of Crowley’s hand and intertwined her fingers in her lap.

Crowley raised her eyebrows. “What? Don’t be ridiculous.”

Aziraphale’s eyes were serious and sad as she fixed them on the demon. She wrung her hands. “If getting back a part of yourself feels like ripping off a plaster to you, then I’m keeping it.”

Crowley stared at her. “Look, I have no bloody idea what possessed you to suggest that.” She rethought that and bared her teeth in a mirthless grin. “Well, technically I do have an idea. Partially possessed, at least. But the point is, there’s no way you’re doing that.”

Aziraphale stopped wringing her hands. “Why not?”

“Who knows what could happen if you’re exposed to a demonic essence for an extended period of time? I’m not letting you do something this stupid out of some misplaced sense of divine pity.”

Crowley expected her words to rile Aziraphale up, but they didn’t appear to bring that result.

“You give me too much credit, Crowley,” the angel said mildly. “I’m just being selfish. Rather appallingly so.” She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “I wished I could keep that small piece of you.”

Crowley straightened her position so that it somewhat resembled sitting. She turned the words around in her head. “Erm. What?”

“I happen to like it. Very much, in fact.” Aziraphale’s gaze, resting on Crowley still, was indescribably soft, and the demon had no idea what to do with that. Her heart felt so warm she feared she might start weeping.

Aziraphale continued, “And I know I have no right to retain it, but just now it seemed to me it might be mutually beneficial.”

“Uh, sure,” Crowley managed. A piece of her would remain in Aziraphale’s care. She’d dreamt of such things sometimes. Then her brain caught up with her, and she remembered she still had to return the piece of Aziraphale’s essence. The future loss of something so wonderful made her feel utterly drained and cold again.

She said, “Okay then. Right. I’ll just– I’ll just return your bit.” She held out her hand anew, willing it to stop shaking. The premonition of withdrawal was too clear in her mind.

“Oh, that would hardly be fair, would it?” Aziraphale objected. “What I want to say is, you could keep what I gave you as well. Unless you don’t wish to, of course.”

I can keep it, Crowley thought deliriously. _I can keep it. I can keep it._ She felt the corners of her mouth tilt up and knew that whatever expression her face was displaying at the moment, it must have been a hopelessly soppy one.

“I’d like that,” she confessed, and her voice came out faltering and squeaky. To her horror, tears sprang up in her eyes, and she quickly wiped off the offending liquid before it had the chance to spill over the rims of her lower eyelids.

“Oh, my dear girl,” Aziraphale mumbled softly. She shuffled closer and wrapped her arms around Crowley, who clung to her in return. The demon rested her head on the angel’s shoulder, giving up trying to be inconspicuous about wiping her eyes.

“Is everything all right?” Aziraphale inquired in a low voice.

“Yes. Perfect,” Crowley replied, fighting to keep her voice even and mostly succeeding. Aziraphale stroked her back, and the gentle movements seemed to uncoil the tension in Crowley’s body. She hadn’t known she could feel this warm. She would have said she felt like floating on cloud nine, but she knew that the number of Aziraphale’s cloud in Heaven was somewhere around six million three hundred fifty-four thousand.

“We shouldn’t keep each other’s essence on the surface, though,” Crowley mumbled. “In case either of our head offices decide to pay us a visit.”

“You’re right. It would immediately raise suspicion.”

They drew apart and rearranged their inner workings. Aziraphale’s light surrendered its function as Crowley’s private metaphysical blanket and became a full-time intoxicant in her figurative bloodstream.

“Let me tempt you to a spot of lunch?” Crowley offered. She had a feeling the scratchy voice and the presumably puffy eyes must be ruining her cool; however, at the sight of Aziraphale’s smile and crinkled eyes, she found she didn’t care overmuch.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading. If you liked the story, I'd be glad if you checked out also the companion piece, [Under the Surface](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25547626).


End file.
